Perigee
by MandaPanda2
Summary: 1974. 2007. It's what I do.


Disclaimer: Characters belong to Aaron Spelling, E. Duke Vincent, Gary Tomlin, NBC, et al and are used here strictly for non-profit entertainment purposes.  
Rating: T  
Genre: Romance/Drama  
Spoilers: Everything through Episode 134, then it drifts into AU  
Summary: 1974. 2007. It's what I do.

* * *

 _April 2007_

Before he walked into the house, Gregory was already fighting to loosen the knot of his tie. It had been one _hell_ of a day. Seemingly never ending meetings which only gave way to even longer meetings. Days like today made him miss daily practice. At least then, his calendar could be blocked for months for all the preparation which went into defending a client going to trial. He dropped his heavy briefcase to the ground as he shrugged out of his suit coat. "Hello," he said to the young woman gaping at him from the living room. Olivia's new secretary, _what's-her-name_. Damn. He couldn't remember.

"Hi, Mr. Richards," she said quickly before she looked back down at the note she was scribbling. "I was just leaving this for Olivia."

"What is it?" he asked curiously, anxious for a chance to focus on something that didn't spring from one of his many meetings.

"Oh, nothing much," she said as she folded her note on top of the bundle. "Just some mail. I wasn't sure how she wants it handled. I'm still trying to learn her routines."

He nodded, already bored with _what's-her-name_. "Leave it there. I'll make sure she sees it." He glanced down quick enough to read the girl's signature. "Thank you, Katie."

She beamed and brushed her hair back. "Well, I better be going. Olivia is picking up Evy from soccer practice and then you have the dinner reservation at 6:30."

He nodded and wondered for a brief moment if his secretary ever spoke with Olivia's. Coordinated their schedules. Swapped stories. Complained about their respective bosses. He had no doubt that his secretary would have more grievances to moan about than Olivia's. "Yes. Thank you," he said, following her to the front door to open it for her. "Have a good night."

"Night," she said before she disappeared out to the driveway.

Gregory exhaled as he walked back into the living room. The house was quiet, save for the sound of a strained whine. As he sank into the sofa, he sternly eyed the dog looking up at him. "Goddamn," he swore beneath his breath before he patted the cushion next to him. The dog's jaw parted, the expression Evy was _convinced_ was a smile, before she jumped onto the sofa. Instead of sitting next to him as he expected, Tater Tot crawled across his lap and wedged herself into the impossibly narrow space between his leg and the arm of the sofa. "Comfortable?" he asked at the precise moment the dog laid her head on his thigh. He rolled his eyes and gave her a perfunctory pat on the head before he reached for the bundle of mail.

As he slipped off the rubber band, he realized he was already frowning. He could _anticipate_ the number of bills included in the stack. Sean was getting married next month and, so far, his wife had _yet_ to spare any expense for the rehearsal dinner they were hosting. Thank God the bride's parents were footing the rest of the bill. All he had to worry about was reigning in his wife over one meal on one night. They were finalizing the plans for the rehearsal dinner tonight with Sean and his fiancée, Shasta. He rifled through the envelopes, seeing nothing related to the wedding as he glanced at the return addresses.

But, then, there it was.

The second to last envelope.

From the _St. Anthony of Padua Home for the Elderly_ in Brooklyn, New York.

His blood ran cold as he turned it over, running his finger beneath the flap. The invoice unfolded neatly, itemizing the cost for services rendered last month for _Resident: Richards, Bruce_. Bruce. His father's name jumped out at him, the black typeface shocking against the ultra-white paper. The invoice crunched and tore some as his fist tightened, barely masking the expletive which fell from his mouth. His BlackBerry was holstered to his belt and he fumbled for it, taking out his newly born fury on the phone's keyboard. The line droned aimlessly as he stood and ran a trembling hand through his hair. He didn't understand how this ended up in his wife's mail. How this ended up addressed to her. How anything she had _anything_ to do with father.

" _Richard Cohen's desk,"_ a sickeningly pleasant voice finally announced. _"How may I help you?"_

"This is Gregory Richards. I need to speak with him. _Now_."

" _Certainly, Mr. Richards. Please hold."_

He turned back to the invoice, which had fallen to the coffee table. He looked it over again, the words having a new clarity upon the subsequent reading. Daily physical therapy service. Gold dining plan. Deluxe entertainment package. Platinum residential suite. "Goddamn it," he muttered.

" _Gregory?"_

"Rich. What the hell is this bill addressed to Olivia?"

He heard their accountant clear his throat. _"Gregory, you'll need to help me so I can help you. What bill? Who is it from?"_

"A retirement home in Brooklyn," he growled, looking back at the top left corner of the invoice. "St. Anthony's."

" _Give me a minute."_ Gregory could hear the accountant's keyboard clicking and tapping as he looked up their financial records. _"Hang on…ah! There it is!"_

He closed his eyes, as if that steadiness could quell the anger consuming him. There it was, apparently. There was no mistake: this was Olivia's bill. "How long has she been paying this?" he asked quietly.

" _Since…September. September 1990."_ A moment of silence went by and Gregory vaguely registered the sound of Rose calling out a goodbye as she left for the day. _"You know, Olivia pays this bill monthly. If she paid it annually, I'm sure there's some kind of discount. A percentage off or something. Want me to look into it? Gregory?"_

Gregory pressed the End button, hanging up on the accountant. Then, he began to chuckle. Softly at first, then louder as he rubbed his face. "A discount," he marveled a second before he hurled his cell phone at the wall. The phone cracked in half and landed in a broken heap next to the Etruscan vase Olivia discovered in some antique shop on one of their trips to Rome. "A goddamn discount," he sneered.

* * *

 _April 1974_

"Oh, darling?" Gregory looked up from the ball game. Olivia stretched out from the other end of the sofa, her feet lounging in his lap. He squeezed her foot gently, grinning as she squirmed. "Gregory!" she laughed.

"What is it?" he asked.

"That package you asked me to watch for didn't come yesterday. I checked with Cesar in the lobby."

"Oh," he said innocently, shrugging as he turned back to the television. "I think you misheard me. I'm expecting a package _today_."

She sat up quickly, brushing her hair back. "No, I didn't," she insisted. "You said it was coming _yesterday_." She reached out and squeezed his thigh. "Gregory?"

"Liv, it's the bottom of the ninth and the Yankees are tied with bases loaded." He heard her sigh and he bit back a smile. "The package is coming today. Saturday."

"Fine." She flopped back against the cushions next to him, her legs tucked up beneath her. She sighed dramatically and he knew she was annoyed. About what, he wasn't exactly sure. He suspected it had less to do with him and more to do with the fact that their wedding was less than two months away. She was up to her eyeballs in details. "How much longer is this going to take?" she asked, vaguely gesturing in the direction of the television.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Depends on if the batt- oh, goddamn it!" he exclaimed as the pitcher struck out Bobby Murcer, ending the inning _and_ the game. "Second loss in a row," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. A moment later, he felt Olivia's arms around his neck and her lips against his cheek.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her mouth brushing against his neck. He looked over as she smiled and cupped his face. "Better?"

He nodded, turning to kiss her lips. "I could get used to this kind of consolation prize."

She giggled and rested her head against his as she knelt next to him. "Are they a bad team?" she asked, slipping into his lap.

"They've had their moments," he said quietly as she straddled him, watching him with great interest. She hated baseball. Most sports actually. Soccer was the only thing she tolerated with more than a passing interest, except she called it _football_. But, she tried to keep up with him and all the New York teams he still followed. "It's still early in the season."

She smiled, her arms draped around his neck. "That's good," she whispered.

As he clung to her hips, the sound of a firm knock at the front door filled the silence. She sighed and he watched as she stood reluctantly, frowning petulantly. "If that's the package," he began as she walked to the door, "sign for me."

"Ugh!" she sighed as she glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "You and this package! What's in it anyway?"

He stood and followed her to the foyer. He didn't want to miss this. "Well, I could tell you, but that would ruin the surprise."

"Ha! Well darling, unless it's a fully planned and organized wedding, I don't-"

Gregory leaned against the wall, watching as she stood in the open doorway. Speechless. Stunned. Just as he planned. He watched as Barbara came through the door, setting down her suitcase and sweeping Olivia into an embrace in one fluid gesture. She smiled at him over Oliva's shoulder, her fingers dancing in a half-wave. He nodded as Olivia shook her head and stuttered, "W-what are you doing here?"

"Well, love," Barbara said as she cupped her daughter's face, "we've got a wedding to plan." He couldn't help smile bashfully as two pairs of blue eyes suddenly turned their gazes to him. "My help from London wasn't _really_ helping, so Gregory arranged for me to fly over and stay until the wedding."

If the expression on Olivia's face was a monetary unit, he would be the wealthiest man alive. Perhaps he already was. He had her at his side now and for the rest of time. Her lips parted in awe as she turned back to her mother, taking her hand. "Until the wedding?" she whispered.

Barbara nodded, brushing back her blonde curls. "We'll get _everything_ done, love. Just you see." She sighed and turned to her suitcase. "Olivia, there are some things I absolutely _must_ put on a hanger. Where is the wardrobe?"

He reached for her suitcase and led the way down the hall to the spare room. "Just one suitcase, Barbara?" He glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "That seems…unlike you."

She chuckled and shook her head. "The young man in the lobby is bringing up the rest of it. He needed to fetch another luggage cart."

He heard Olivia snort back a giggle as they followed him into the bedroom. "Mummy, do you want anything? Tea? A sandwich?"

Barbara sighed and looked around the room as he placed the suitcase on the chair next to the bureau. "No, love. I'll feel better when I hang up my things and freshen up."

"Take a rest too," Olivia suggested as she took his hand and led him from the room. "You must be exhausted, Mummy."

He closed the door behind them and turned back to Olivia as she threw her arms around him. "Why didn't you tell me?" she gasped, looking up at him.

"Liv, it was a surprise."

She beamed and hugged him tight. She sighed deeply and he felt how tense she was still. "Thank you, darling."

He nudged her chin up. "This was supposed to make you happy."

She nodded. "It does. I am."

He could hear her next thought, though it remained unsaid. It was a refrain to the conversation they've been having for the last few months. Since they got engaged. "Don't worry about what it cost to get your mother here."

"How can I not?" she murmured. "Do you even _care_ what _anything_ for this wedding costs?"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her close as they walked down the hall. "Not really."

She spun around, her face twisted as she sighed, "I know that! That's why I do! I-I know what my parents can afford. I-"

"Olivia," he interrupted, his voice soft, "your father and I have…an understanding." She bit the corner of her lip as she watched him quietly. "I have business associates. People who _need_ to be invited." She nodded as he continued, "That's why our wedding needs to be here and not London. That's an inconvenience to your parents. It's an unfair financial burden on them. Your father has agreed to let me make up the difference."

"An understanding," she murmured. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

He cupped her face, watching her closely. "Because something as trivial as money shouldn't stop you from having the wedding of your dreams."

She leaned against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. "You're the _only_ person I know who thinks money is trivial," she sighed.

He chuckled as she finally relaxed against him. "Only when it's about you, Liv." She peeked up at him, a quiet smile dancing on her expression. "I would pay _anything_ for you to have everything you want."

* * *

 _2007_

"Darling, do hurry!" Olivia exclaimed, standing in the entry courtyard. Her daughter looked up as she finally pulled off her right cleat and left it with its twin by the garage door.

Evy scampered over, her neon orange knee-high athletic socks covered with dirt. "Sorry, Mom!"

She grimaced, nodding silently. Her daughter was a sweaty and filthy mess. "You need a bath, young lady."

"Aww, Mom! Do I have to? Can't I just go jump in the pool?"

Olivia shook her head as she pushed open the front door and ushered her smelly child inside. "Absolutely not. You need soap and shampoo." She looked up as Tater Tot ran over to them, barking excitedly. Evy fell to her knees, giggling as the dog jumped up on her hind legs and began licking her face. "Straight upstairs, Evy. Right now."

"But, Mom-"

"Upstairs. _Now_." They both looked up, seeing Gregory sitting on the sofa. Olivia smiled and opened her mouth to greet him when she saw the furiously blank expression on his face. Her lips disappeared into a thin line as he stood slowly. But, his gaze wasn't fixed on her; it was on their daughter. Evy was still on her knees, holding the dog. "Did you hear me?" he asked quietly and their daughter stood, nodding silently. Even she recognized the quiet fury in his voice. A moment later, she fled up the stairs, her socks muffling her footsteps.

Olivia turned back from the stairs, her purse slipping from her shoulder to her hand. "Gregory, what was that all about?" she marveled as she walked into the living room. She glanced around. A pile of mail was scattered on the coffee table. A glass of scotch sat next to an opened envelope. His cell phone was in a broken pile on the other side of the room. Well. That explained why he didn't answer her call earlier. "Gregory-" she began as she turned back to him. But, he stood in front of her, holding up a wrinkled sheet of paper. "What is that?"

He stepped closer to her, his eyes dark. "You tell me," he said and she frowned. He hadn't looked at her with this much anger since the day he found out about her affair with Del. A moan slipped from her mouth as her eyes danced between him and the paper. A horrific thought slammed into her, echoing like church bells on Easter Sunday. Oh God. Did he find out about Cole? Did he know she once suspected Evy wasn't his daughter? "What was that Olivia? I couldn't _hear_ you."

Her mind raced, wondering how he found out. Cole. Cole was the only way he could. "Gregory," she murmured as he stepped closer and grabbed her hand, shoving the letter into it. "I can-"

"You can _what_ , Olivia? You can explain?" He looked at her with a withering stare before he took hold of her wrist and wrenched it up, making her gasp. Now, the paper was between their faces, the flimsiest barrier between herself and his anger. "Here. Explain it then. Explain it to _me_."

She nodded weakly, her eyes falling to the paper in her hand. She smoothed it out, her vision blurring as she looked down at it. She froze. It wasn't from Cole. "A bill?" she murmured as she looked up, her head spinning. He didn't know about Cole. He didn't know about her once questioning Evy's paternity. He didn't _know_.

"Getting warmer," he snapped. She could smell the scotch on his breath as she began to shake her head. "Don't. Don't you stand there and say you don't know what this is." His eyes fell and through the anger, she could see the hurt. "It's addressed to _you_ ," he whispered below his breath before he turned away and reached for his glass.

"Gre-" she stuttered as she shook her head, pulling the paper taut. The name of the retirement home in the upper left corner caught her attention and she inhaled. His father. Bruce. She swallowed hard and looked up slowly. Her arms fell to her sides, the bill falling from her hand. And, just like that, she understood everything. "I-I _can_ explain."

"Of course you can," he sullenly replied, taking a long sip of his scotch. "You always can." Her dry lips parted and her heart raced as he continued, "Rich already told me, but I want to hear it from you. How long have you been paying that?"

"Gre-"

"How. Long."

"Years," she confessed in a sigh. "Since the early nineties." His eyes fell as he turned away. The swell of time echoed between them. Almost seventeen years. Monthly payments for all those years. Almost two hundred times to _not_ tell him the truth. To lie – the _one_ thing she vowed to never do to him again after Evy. A lie by omission, but a lie nonetheless. "Darling, _please_." He shook his head and walked around the sofa. Away from her. She spun after him, watching as he left the room. "Gregory, wait! Please!"

* * *

 _1974_

Olivia looked up and sighed deeply. After only three days of solid work, she and Mum managed to sort out a number of details. She rested her head in her hand and closed her eyes for a long moment. It wasn't just her mother's help. Trying to balance planning the wedding on what she estimated her parents could contribute was an obstacle which had been causing her considerable anxiety. Thanks to Gregory, she no longer had that worry. She opened her eyes. God, maybe she _was_ as shallow as Bette teased her of being.

"Stop frowning, love. It causes wrinkles."

She nodded and looked up. Her mother sat on the other side of the coffee table, gazing down at the sketch of the banquet hall. "Anything?" she asked as she reached for her glass of wine. They had been fighting with the seating arrangements all day. Well, _Mum_ insisted on fighting with them. _She_ would've been just as happy to pass over the list of wedding guests to the liaison from the banquet hall and let _her_ figure it out.

"Well," she sighed, pushing the drawing away. "You and Gregory certainly invited enough people."

She chuckled into her glass. "We had to. He knows _so_ many people."

Barbara nodded. "Yes, I suppose he does."

She watched her mother closely, feeling her hesitation. "What, Mum?"

She shrugged before finally gesturing to the stack of papers which contained the names of the guests. "You don't have a large family, but at least they're attending the wedding." Olivia took a deeper sip of wine, knowing where her mother was headed next. "I don't see a _single_ member of Gregory's family on the guest list."

She exhaled slowly. "Mum, you know Gregory's mother died when he was a child." Nine. She closed her eyes, trying to think of what nine-year-old Gregory must have been like. How quickly his life changed.

"Of course I do, Olivia. And, that's a horrible thing for him to have lived through. But, he has a father. Grandparents, surely."

Her eyes flew open. "Mummy, please. Listen to me. You can _never_ bring up his father. They- they haven't spoken in years." Not since Gregory was seventeen. Not since he ran away to college and never looked back at the cruel man who raised him. "If you only knew how horrid his father was…" she murmured, meeting her mother's eyes. "Gregory is far better off _without_ that despicable man in his life."

Barbara was quiet for a long moment. She watched her mother, seeing the war of emotions playing out on her face. She knew what she was thinking. She was thinking how different her daughter's childhood had been compared to his. "What about his mother's parents?" she finally asked.

"Mummy, I don't know," she sighed, reaching for the bottle of wine. "I've never met them. Gregory lost touch with them after his mother died." She bit the corner of her lip, not continuing the story. How she asked Gregory about his mother's parents when they were in New York City before Christmas. How she encouraged him to look in the phone book and see if they were listed. How his face froze. How quickly she recognized the anger in his expression. How she changed the subject after he shook his head. How he hugged her to him later that night, his chest pressed against her back.

 _"I loved my grandparents, Liv," he murmured in her ear. She lay still, his heavy arm draped over her as he sighed deeply._

 _"What do you remember about them?" she asked after several beats of silence. She gazed out the window, the glittering lights from the surrounding skyscrapers like stars._

 _"Not much." She snuggled back against him as he continued, "My grandfather was a train conductor. I thought he was the smartest man I ever met. He knew all the stops on every line in his head." His other arm snaked beneath her head and she turned her face into it as he continued, "We would go over to their house every Sunday for dinner. I would always ask to wear his conductor's hat."_

 _"Would he let you?"_

 _After a moment, he softly chuckled. "Not at first. He would always say no, but I knew he didn't mean it. He would usually place it on my head before we sat down to eat."_

 _She nodded as his fingers tucked their way between her waist and the mattress. "And, your grandmother?"_

 _"She was," he sighed, "a tiny woman with a feisty personality. It always made her seem bigger than she was." His arms tightened around her as he continued, "She would always press a dollar bill into my hand as we were leaving. I used to think it was our secret, but I'm sure my mother knew about it."_

 _"It sounds like they loved you very much."_

 _"I suppose. It doesn't change anything."_

 _She turned slightly, meeting his sleepy gaze over her shoulder. "What do you mean?"_

 _"I never saw them after my mother died. How much they loved me didn't matter. They left."_

* * *

 _2007_

More than three-quarters of the way up, Evy crouched on the stairs as she held onto the bannister. She was confused. She didn't understand what Mom and Dad were talking about. The scariest was Dad. She had never seen him this angry before. Well, never this angry at _Mom_. Other people maybe, but _never_ Mom. In school, she learned what it meant to worship when Mr. Riley taught her class about the Ancient Egyptians and their sun god. That lesson helped her to understand that Dad worshipped Mom (and maybe even the ground she walked on).

 _"Gregory, wait! Please!"_

She squeezed her eyes shut. Mom was upset. She sounded like she was going to cry. A moment later, she heard the door to Dad's study slam shut and she flinched. Next to her, Tater Tot whimpered and lowered her head as if _she_ was the reason Dad was mad. "Shh, girl. Shh," she whispered as she patted the dog's small head. She stood slowly and creeped down the stairs. She peeked around the wall and didn't see anyone. If Dad was in his study, where was Mom? Her office? That was in the room next to Dad's study. She stepped off the last stair and peered into the living room. No, there she was. Mom was sitting on the sofa, her head back against the cushion as she stared up at the ceiling. Quietly, she inched closer to the sofa. But, Mom didn't hear her. "Is Dad mad at you?" she asked quietly.

After a moment, Mom sighed deeply, but kept looking up at the ceiling. Evy bit the corner of her lip. Mom was pale. Paler than she usually was. "Why aren't you in your room?" she murmured.

"What did you do?" There had to be a reason why Dad was so mad. Her stomach began to hurt and she grimaced. It hurt worse than the time Kelley Finucane kicked the soccer ball right into her. A scary thought entered her mind and she felt her throat tighten, as if she was swallowing a rock from the beach.

"Evy-"

At Christmas, Sean told her that Mom and Dad fought a lot when he and Caitlin were younger. All the time, he said. He thought they were going to get a divorce every single day. The pain in her stomach moved up into her chest. "Are you going to get a divorce?" she asked in a whisper as she anxiously tugged her mesh shorts.

"Evelyn Frances," she hissed, turning sharply, "go upstairs like your father said!"

Why was Mom yelling at her? She didn't do anything wrong! She frowned and glared at Mom before she spun away. As she stomped up the stairs, she shouted over her shoulder, "IF YOU GET A DIVORCE, I'LL _NEVER_ TALK TO YOU OR DAD FOR THE REST OF MY _LIFE_!" Pains shot up her legs as she continued to stomp her feet. It almost made her feel better. But then, her face crumbled as her tears cut clean trails through the dirt and sweat on her cheeks.

* * *

 _1974_

"Darling, where is this wine from again?"

She watched as Gregory looked up from the arm chair in the corner of the living room, his eyes momentarily stunned as he transitioned from reading to her question. "France," he finally replied as he swallowed back a yawn.

She grinned and watched him rub his eyes before he turned back to the thick deposition in his lap. "Are you almost done? Do you want another glass?"

His face turned in thought as he considered the remaining pages. "I think it'll be another hour before I'm finished."

She nodded and turned back to her mother, who waited with an impatient expression and arched eyebrow. "What's that for?" she giggled as she leaned over to readjust the needle on the record player. The hissing and scratching of the vinyl added to the moody sound of the unsettling music. Her mother grinned and shook her head, shuffling the deck of cards. "You're just anxious to try and get back the money I won."

"I blame your cousin, Anthony, for teaching you how to play cards for money."

She giggled and curled up against the large pillows surrounding her on the floor. "He put a lot of work into me. Said I needed to practice my face."

"Your _what_?" she laughed.

She laughed too as she gestured to her own face. "My expression. He used to pinch me every time he could tell my hand by my face."

"Ah." She dealt the cards and spent a moment looking at her own hand. "You were like that even as a child," she finally murmured. "Every time you did something naughty, I could tell just by _looking_ at you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she sniffed, setting her wine glass aside as she reached for her own cards. "I never did _anything_ naughty."

Barbara threw back her head and laughed with abandon. "Oh, darling," she chuckled, clutching her heart. "You've taken a _very_ rosy view of your childhood."

"I was a perfect child," she insisted, enjoying the amused flush which spread across her mother's face and neck.

"I find that somewhat difficult to believe," Gregory murmured from the corner, not even looking up from his deposition.

She scoffed and turned around, shooting him a dirty look. "Darling, whose side are you on?"

"At the moment," he sighed, turning the page, "my own." He turned his eyes up, a tiny smirk lighting up his expression before he returned to his deposition.

"I'll remember that," she sighed as she looked back at her mother.

"Gregory," she began, reaching for her tea cup, "what were you like as a child? Were you as perfect as Olivia wishes she had been?"

 _See my lonely life unfold  
_ _I see it everyday_

"I was quiet," he murmured after a moment. She could tell by the tone of his voice he was distracted by his deposition and answering on auto-pilot. Quiet wasn't the way he described himself or his childhood to her. _I needed to be invisible, Liv. Anything that would make Bruce forget I was there._

"Surely your parents and grandparents would disagree?"

Several moments of silence went by, screaming insistently. Olivia blinked as her hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass. Even through the haze of the French wine, she could see the road her mother was taking just as clearly as if she was at her side. Perhaps she was. Deep down, she knew this moment was bound to arrive sooner rather than later. And, she had done nothing to warn Gregory of this turn.

"I'm sure they would." He was Lawyer Gregory now. The one who spoke with a faux sincerity when he really couldn't be bothered by the person or the topic. She narrowed her eyes, wondering which label her mother fell under at this very moment. Probably both. "After all, you disagreed with Olivia."

"Will they be at the wedding? Your grandparents? I'm sure they'll have plenty of stories about you for Thomas and I."

The mournful wailing lyrics consumed Olivia, the rhythmic strums of the guitar matching her increased heartbeat. She pushed herself onto her knees and turned, leaning against the sofa as she watched Gregory. His face was ominously blank, but that wouldn't matter to her mother. She frowned when she was unable to catch his eye. He gazed straight through her, as if she wasn't even there, to where her mother sat on the other side of the coffee table. "They won't be," he replied. "I haven't seen them since I was a child."

She winced as her mother asked, "Haven't you ever wondered about them?"

She shook her head, looking back over her shoulder at her mother. "Mummy-"

"Not particularly, Barbara," he said curtly and she spun back to him. Olivia heard the lie. It was that too abrupt tone of finality he used whenever something was too close for comfort. She remembered the dark hotel room in New York, the quiet heartbreak in his voice.

 _"I never saw them after my mother died. How much they loved me didn't matter. They left."_

 _"I'm sure your father didn't make it easy for them to see you."_

 _He sighed. "Bruce probably didn't. But, they were weak and they let Bruce bully them, the way he bullied everyone. They left me with him. They left, just like everyone else I loved."_

She watched him stand, still avoiding her eyes as he graced them with a polite, but strained, smile. The annoyance was brimming in his eyes, swirling and churning like the ocean during a nasty thunderstorm. "I'm going to finish this up in my study."

 _I didn't wanna be  
_ _I didn't wanna be_

She flinched when she heard his study door close quietly. A part of her wondered if she would've preferred to hear it slam shut. "Oh, Mummy," she groaned as she slid down and drew her knees to her chest. "Why? _Why_ did you have to bring it up?"

Her mother sighed. "He has to have his people at his wedding, Olivia. It's not right if he doesn't."

She looked up slowly, feeling the beginning of a headache swell at the base of her skull. "He has me," she sighed as she reached for her wine. " _I'll_ be there for him."

* * *

 _2007_

Gregory walked down the hall, clutching his empty glass of scotch. After several hours, the decanter in his study was now bone dry. He couldn't even remember the last time he had this much to drink. One of Bette's weddings rolled around in his muddled brain as a possible response. Her wedding to the Indian. A vision of Olivia swathed in a pink silk sari danced in front of him before he shook his head and rubbed his face. He didn't want to think about his wife and sheer silk. Not now.

Sunset and twilight had given way to an inky darkness, befitting his foul mood. As he passed through the foyer, he realized it was well past the time of their dinner reservations with Sean and Shasta. He chuckled to himself, hearing Evy's voice in his head as she exclaimed, _"You're marrying a lake, Seanie!"_ Did Olivia call them to cancel their reservation? He stopped in the foyer, listening intently. Was it just a few hours ago he walked through this very space, marveling at the quiet and none the wiser to Olivia financially supporting Bruce? Just a few hours that he waited for his wife and daughter to get home-

Evy.

Where was Evy? Her room? The dog was out of sight, which meant that she was curled at the side of her young mistress. But, Evy…she had to have heard everything between him and Olivia.

He sighed. Goddamn, where was the scotch?

Three steps from the bar in the corner of the living room, he stopped short and, after a brief moment, sniffed the air. A sweet aroma danced through the tense silence. He sniffed again, recognizing it as something he hadn't smelled in years, but was unable to identify it. Half a breath later, the stench of burned toast drowned out the calming sweetness. He sighed deeply, finally remembering what it was as he turned for the kitchen. As he passed through the dining room, he pushed his empty glass on the table before he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. The swinging door was propped open, letting his arrival be without signal. The room was cloaked in shadows, the feeble overhead light on the stove providing just enough light for him to make out his wife. She stood at the island in the center of the kitchen, her back to him. "Where's Evy?" he asked. He winced as the vastness of the kitchen and its unending tile caused his question to echo.

Olivia stiffened slightly, but she didn't turn to him. "Her room."

"Did she eat dinner?"

She sighed and he watched her set her beans and toast onto the plate next to her. "She's nine, Gregory. She knows where the kitchen is if she's hungry."

He sighed. "Olivia-"

She finally turned around. "You walked out." He paused, letting her statement quiver between them. "You're angry. I understand that. But, why did you walk out?"

He shook his head and sighed, "It's what _I_ do." She watched him carefully, her left hand perched on the counter. "Why have _you_ been paying Bruce's bills for nearly twenty years?"

She shrugged helplessly and met his pleading gaze. "Because he asked me to."

He froze, her simple reply washing over him like an ice bath. "Did you meet him?" He had never wanted her to know Bruce. She had been the first bright spot in his life since the death of his mother. He never wanted Bruce to taint her.

She shook her head and folded her arms against her chest. "He called my office. He asked for money. He said if I gave him what he asked for, he wouldn't need to contact you. He wouldn't need to try and get to know Caity and Sean."

"That was it?" he asked incredulously. "He called and you just added him to the bankroll?"

"Oh, please, Gregory! It was 1990. It wasn't a _banner_ year for me! I didn't think! I just reacted!"

He closed his eyes as a moment of silence passed between them. 1990. Their marriage was in shambles. Her alcoholism was reaching its peak. Then, in the spring, her mother passed away. "Do you know what would have happened if he _had_ contacted me?" he asked rhetorically. He opened his eyes, seeing she had bridged the distance between them. "Nothing. Not a goddamn thing, Olivia. He would've been sent on his way, hat in hand and _without_ my money sustaining him for the last seventeen years!"

She looked up slowly, their eyes meeting. "It's not about sustaining Bruce, darling," she said softly. "It never was." She sighed and took the last step. Now, nothing separated them except a thin layer of air and her folded arms. "I never wanted him to contact you. _That's_ what the money was for." He exhaled sharply as she softly continued, "He made the first seventeen years of your life a living hell. The things he did to you…" She shook her head and, even in the faint lighting, he could see the fury wash across her face. "I dealt with him so you wouldn't have to. He probably knew if he went to you first, he would just be turned away. He had to have known _I'd_ be more inclined to give him whatever he asked for if it meant he wouldn't contact you or our children."

The breath rushed from his lungs as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her against his chest. A moment later, he felt her arms around his waist as she pressed herself against him. "I just wanted him to go away," he heard her continue, her words muffled against his chest. "So I paid him from my personal bank account." Not one of their joint accounts, he realized. _Hers_. The account that was funded with her income from the radio station. Rich neglected that detail on their call. Perhaps he didn't give him the chance to before he abruptly hung up.

"Since 1990," he murmured.

She nodded and looked up slowly. "My secretary writes the checks for all my bills. At least she's _supposed_ to. Bruce's bills were just…added to the list. I never even saw them. I didn't care about them so long as they were paid each month. He never called again after he got the money."

"Were you _ever_ going to tell me?" he desperately asked. He wanted to know. He couldn't survive on hope alone. He hadn't hoped for anything in _decades_.

"I wanted to." When she started to lower her gaze, he reached out and nudged her chin up. She sighed and finally admitted, "But, I didn't know how. We were so broken back then and there was no way to just _bring up_ Bruce. After a few years, I just…put it out of my mind. He stayed away from you and the children. That's all that mattered." She placed her hands on his chest. "But, I should have told you. Years ago. Somehow."

He exhaled deeply as he cupped the back of her head. "The son of a bitch will probably live to a hundred." He met her eyes and whispered, "Stop paying his bills."

"Don't think about him anymore," she insisted, watching him closely. "He doesn't matter to us. He never did." He drew her in, her head resting over his heart. "I would pay _anything_ to keep him out of your life," he heard her murmur and he turned his face into her hair.

* * *

 _1974_

Gregory tightened the belt of his robe as he walked out into the living room. It was deserted, the deck of cards stacked neatly in the center of the coffee table. Olivia's wine glass stood next to it, partially filled. Barbara was gone, no doubt shut up in the spare room for the remainder of the night. He sighed, wandering over to the open balcony doors. Her mother was strong-willed and knew no bounds of propriety. He didn't remember his own mother being that way. He sighed, rubbing his face. He didn't know all that much about her as Evelyn, the person. He didn't know what if she would have harassed Olivia over an extremely personal matter. He didn't know if she would have said her piece, no matter what. He just knew her as Mommy, his protector from Bruce. Mommy, who loved to sing as she stirred Bolognese sauce. Mommy, who always brushed his hair back before he left for school.

He cleared his throat, swallowing the familiar regret he always felt when he thought of his mother, as he stepped out onto the balcony. Olivia leaned against the railing, gazing quietly at the lights from the marina ten floors below them. He sighed and looked up, silver moonlight cradling her in a gentle embrace. "Are you coming to bed?" he asked softly as he stood next to her. "It's late."

She looked over slowly, her face still. "In a bit," she murmured. She said nothing else and only continued to watch him. Searching. Waiting. With an internal sigh, he nodded and turned to leave. She reached out quickly, placing a restraining, but gentle, hand on his arm. "Gregory, why did you walk out?" Her long hair was gathered over one shoulder, giving him an unobstructed view of the way her throat contorted and her chin quivered.

He was silent as he leaned against the railing, the strong breeze stirring his hair. The moonlight glowed on the undulating current in the harbor. "It's what I do," he whispered. He looked over with a weak smile which barely reached his lips. She met his gaze and her crestfallen expression caused his heart to twist. "You're the _only_ person who ever expected me to stay."

She shook her head and slipped beneath his left arm to press herself into his chest. He sighed and kissed her head as she trembled against him. "Please don't walk out again," she sighed, turning her face into his neck. "Please. Promise me."

In the aftermath of his parents' arguments, when his mother held a cube of ice to her bruised eye, while his father was getting drunk in some bar, she always promised him that it would be alright. But, even as a child, he knew it would keep happening. He knew his father wouldn't stop his drunken and abusive rages. But, in that _single_ moment, nothing calmed him more than his mother. The sound of her voice. The way her arms felt around him. The way her lips felt against his forehead. "I promise," he murmured against her forehead. "It's going to be alright."

She looked up, cupping his face. "And, please don't be angry with Mummy. She only wants to help. She doesn't understand your family."

He nodded slowly. "I know."

She shook her head as if she was still struggling to end the disagreement. "She doesn't know everything your father put you through."

"Liv." The lone syllable rested between them, a breathed sigh in the night. "It's over."

She sniffled and nodded slowly as her hands fell from his face. She pressed her palms into his chest as she whispered, "You don't like her. I know you don't."

"Olivia," he sighed. "Your mother is…" She looked up, watching him quietly. "Assertive," he finally said and she sobbed, wiping her eyes even as she chuckled. "But, I do like her and I'm happy she's here."

She nodded and sniffed, the tip of her nose stained red. "I know you don't entirely mean that," she murmured. He wrapped his arms around her and sighed as she continued, "I love you very much for putting up with her."

"And, I love you very much for choosing to live thousands of miles away from her." She laughed softly and leaned against him. He lowered his voice and added, "It's just…it's been fifteen years since I've had a mother in my life. It'll take some…getting used to."

* * *

 _2007_

Gregory walked down the hall, seeing the glowing light beneath his daughter's door. He stood still for a moment, listening. He could hear familiar music and he wistfully smiled, remembering Sean playing that same video game when he was Evy's age. It was the kind of chirping melody that had the annoying power to be stuck in his head for days. He knocked quietly, listening as the music abruptly stopped. A moment later, the door opened slightly and his daughter's face appeared in the crack. Her suspicious eyes darted around him like she was looking for something. Finally, she sighed and looked up at him with wide brown eyes. "Are you and Mom getting divorced?"

"What? No." He crouched down until he was eye-level with his daughter. Sean's eyes looked back at him, waiting expectantly for bad news. "Why would you think that?"

She shrugged and looked at the floor. "Sean- Sean said you and Mom fought every day when he and Caitlin were my age."

He grimaced, suddenly embarrassed their daughter had been exposed to the kind of people he and Olivia used to be. He needed to have a talk with Sean about leaving the past in the past, where it belonged. Especially where Evy was concerned. "Have I ever lied to you?" he asked quietly. She peeked up at him and, after a long moment, shook her head. She bit the corner of her lip and reminded him so suddenly of Olivia that it nearly took his breath away. Everyone always said how much Sean and Evy looked like him, but when he looked at them, he saw nothing but Olivia. "Then, you'll know I'm telling the truth when I promise you that is something you _never_ have to worry about."

He expected to see her toothless grin and relief at the reassurance that her parents were not divorcing. Instead, he was taken aback by her next question. "So, where's Mom then?" she asked as if she took her mother's absence from this moment as a sure sign of impending divorce.

He cocked his head in the direction of the back staircase. "She's in the kitchen, eating beans and toast."

Evy's face twisted in disgust as she made retching sounds. Finally, here was the relief he expected to see in his daughter. He stood as she pulled her door open all the way and came out. "Eww! Dad, why can't she eat _normal_ snacks? You know, like peanut butter and jelly?"

He chuckled and cupped the back of her neck as he led her down the hall. She sighed and leaned against him, her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She was already bathed and in her pajamas, her feet clad in fuzzy lavender slippers. "It's what she ate when she was your age," he replied. But really, he knew it wasn't just that. Beans and toast was the comfort food she sought refuge in after all their past arguments. That and vodka, though the liquor was no longer an option.

"Well, it's GROSS," she announced decisively as they walked down the back staircase.

As they stepped into the kitchen, Olivia looked up from the basket of take-out menus. Every light was on now and glowing against the windows that overlooked the patio. She smiled and held up two menus as she asked, "Pizza or sushi?"

"Pizza!" Evy exclaimed, skipping over to her mother's side. He hung back, watching as Olivia wrapped her arm around their daughter and leaned down, whispering something in her ear. Whatever it was made the girl beam from ear-to-ear before she giggled and glanced at him.

"Sean?" he asked and his wife looked up.

"He called the restaurant and changed the reservation to tomorrow. We'll see him and Shasta then."

"Lake Shasta!" Evy giggled as she pried the menu from her mother's hand. "Can we have cannoli for dessert?" she asked as she clambered onto one of the stools around the island.

"Not tiramisu?" he asked, coming over to wrap his arm around Olivia's slender frame.

"No way, Dad!" She shook her head, reading through the menu. "We had that last time!"

Olivia leaned against him, sighing quietly as his hand molded to her shoulder. They had stood like this countless times before. The calm after the storm. Like the moon orbiting the earth, they always returned to the close space he cherished. She was his touchstone. His reason. His everything. He leaned down, murmuring into her ear, "You know, I may walk out, but I always come back to you. _Always_."

She looked up, watching him with clear eyes for a long moment. Then, she smiled slightly and nodded, her eyes closing as he leaned in and kissed her.

THE END.

* * *

 _A/N: The lyrics in one of the 1974 segments are from Alice Cooper's "Ballad of Dwight Fry" (written by Michael Bruce and Alice Cooper)._


End file.
